


Not an echo even

by Hopeful_Foolx



Series: Whumptober 2020 [4]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Broken Bones, Concussions, Confusion, Eventual Fluff, Everyone Is Alive, Fix-It of Sorts, Hurt/Comfort, Pneumonia, Tight Spaces, Trapped, Whump, Whumptober 2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-03
Updated: 2020-10-28
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:26:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26798059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hopeful_Foolx/pseuds/Hopeful_Foolx
Summary: They stop the Unknowing. There is an explosion. And trapped under rubble and panic, Jon wakes up. So does Tim.Three prompts, one story. Starting with Day 4 - Running out of Time
Relationships: Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist & Tim Stoker, Martin Blackwood & Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist & Tim Stoker, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Series: Whumptober 2020 [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1945483
Comments: 42
Kudos: 233
Collections: Whumptober 2020





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know if this can be called a fix-it. I think it is in a way since Tim survives and Jon does not lose six months in a coma. It's been a while since I listened to the episode but I liked the prompt so if there are some errors, let's blame it on the concussion. Enjoy!

The music is still playing when he comes to, words echoing in his mind, pressure on his chest, it’s still playing even when he tries to drown it out. He is not moving anymore, not stumbling around, he should be, he thinks, he did before and then-

What then? Tim, but not Tim, lies and someone else, now the smell of burning plastic fills his nose and he tries to breathe in, but-

Chokes. It burns into his lungs, down his throat and through his nose, he coughs and that is even worse, something is wrong, he can’t move, why can’t he move?!

Trapped. He is trapped, that is the word, nobody is choking him or maybe it is, something heavy lies across his chest, not tight enough to crush him but he still can’t move, it’s heavy on his chest, so heavy he can’t even draw a full breath so he takes small and little ones until his ears ring. It’s tight, so tight that if he breathes too deep it’ll fall - will it? Is he even alive? Is he human enough for that, or is he gone, this is what happens after he dies the thing he is now- Is he alone? He is alone, in the dark, trapped, so tight, and the thick air and he can’t breathe-

“This is… This is please not real…” someone mumbles close by it gets through the noise and Jon turns his head to the side abruptly. His cheekbone collides with stone and like a cable sends electricity, it sends pain through his head and spine. He tries to make his mouth work, because he wants to, because he needs to. Is he alone?

“Tim” it’s said with a rough voice but not a question, he knows his voice, he always will

“Shut up” Jon wants to laugh but his chest hurts too much, still it’s a hysteric and half sobbed sound when he repeats his name

He is not alone. They are alone together, yes, no, they’ll die but he is not dead yet and- There should be more people, he thinks of Basira and where is she? But he can only see Tim, what could be Tim, no, a liar? The voice, but the voice is alright now, and after a moment, he sees the silhouette turn to him. A silhouette? What if-

“I thought you were dead” he mumbles and a crash follows, brings the ringing back. Jon squeezes his eyes closed and when he opens them again, Tim is much closer. He can make out his face, the blood coating it. He is kneeling next to him, both hands braced against the floor - or what had been the floor. It’s debris now. He can’t see more than that. The ceiling came down? Is it that?

“Fucking thought we were all dead” he mumbles and his arm gives out. Jon winces when he hears him cry out with pain when he lands, and reaches out with his own, not trapped hand. 

“They’ll find us” He isn’t sure about that, not at all, but it’s all he can think about. Martin knows where they are. He hasn’t seen Basira, granted, he didn’t look, but still. Tim is here. They are alive. They stopped the ritual. They survived. Tim is alive, he should thank that if he could just breathe if the pressure could just let him breathe, just please let him- 

“Jon!” Tim groans and Jon realizes he is spiraling, but he also can’t stop. He wants to get out, has to, draw a full breath please please please.

“Stop, breathe, slow” He turns his face to him and gets a better look at his face. He corrects his earlier assumption: It’s a lot of blood. A whole lot of blood. It makes him nauseous and he swallows but there is not enough air and-

“I don’t want to die alone so you better stay with me or…” His hand is like ice when he grips Jon’s. No, they won’t die. Martin knows where they are, but also, how do they know he is alive when they are here and he is in the institute and Elias and Basira and he is trapped, what if they are trapped too, what if-

“Breathe, alright. Just breathe” The hand is not plastic when he squeezes it, “In and out” They had this before, he realizes, because back in research, back when they had still been friends. Because Jon forgot what a panic attack felt like but Tim had been there, “In and out” He does not tell him it’s all okay, he does not tell him they’ll be alright.

“We survived” he states quietly after some time because he can’t stand the silence, it makes him only concentrate on the weight on his chest

“Can’t believe it” and it almost sounds like the Tim he remembers from research. The one he… he missed. Misses. Jon’s leg is cramping and he tries to move it, but the rubble only shifts, “You are not supposed to move” Tim sighs and Jon tries to stay still, he really does, but he wants to push it away with all force, which is something he can’t do. He knows he can’t. 

“Can’t breathe” he chokes out because it’s too close to panic again, and panic itself makes it even worse. He can’t breathe and yet he needs to, needs to get out and needs to get away. It’s choking him, it’s crushing him and the more he thinks about it the more it just sends him spiraling downwards again.

“I know, but you can. Slowly. It won’t crush you or it would have already” A pause, “I think” He still holds his hand and Jon clings to it like a lifeline. There is a desperation to it, a lot of it, really, because he wants to get out and be able to move and he wants to go back. Further back. Maybe he is dying because they say all the regrets come then, and he regrets so much already. Right now, he wishes they’d still be friends. 

“I’m sorry” He chokes out because it feels like the right thing to say, but the pain in his chest flares up as if he got a knife rammed into it. He shakily draws another breath and it hurts, make it stop, stop but he can’t. He doesn’t want to die, but if he dies this could stop-

“Shut up. Breathe” Tim only grumbles and Jon does, in and out, in and out, thick air that burns in his chest but it’s air enough.

“I need to tell you, I’m sorry” he repeats and closes his eyes, draws another burning breath, in and out, in and out, “I’m sorry” Tim sighs and for a moment, Jon only hears him cough and tries not to think how it sounds, how he fights to get the air back into his lungs and how long it takes - is it really long? - until he stops. His wheezing breaths are all he can hear, and he hopes and prays that he’ll answer, say something, because even worse than the silence is hearing him breathe and fearing of it suddenly stopping, and he can’t- In and out, he reminds himself, in and out. Slow. Too deep and it’s a stab in the chest again. Cracked rib? He is… No. In and out. In and out. 

“I won’t forgive you because you think you’re dying” he mumbles then, “And if you want to be sorry? Don’t die. Be better” Better? A better person? Human? A better what? In and out. He needs to breathe, in and out, slowly.

“Don’t know if that is an option anymore” He admits and his throat closes up, not due to the smoke, not because he already can’t breathe, but because a warm tear rolls down his face. Do monsters cry? He presses his lips together, crying, coughing, he needs to suppress it if he wants to keep breathing. In and out. In and out. 

“Make it one” he coughs again and it’s even worse than the last time, Jon squeezes his eyes closed to drown out how wet it sounds, but it doesn't help, “If you want to be sorry” he finally wheezes, “Be better” His hand is still cold and Jon still clutches it, but he doesn’t continue.

“Tim?” he asks, but doesn’t get an answer, “Tim?” slightly louder, and it’s a sensation of someone scraping his throat with a knife’s edge, “Tim!” The hand in his is limp and cold. In and out, in and out… 

“Tim please” Please, please please 

But he is alone in the dark now. The pressure around him seems to get worse and he can’t concentrate, in and out, but he is alone, all alone, plastic, in and plastic is burning, in, the smell of it, the music, god the music - it’s dark and only the music, in and out and out and he can’t, he can’t he can’t-

Ringing drowns out the music, and the pain in his chest explodes before the darkness vanishes too.


	2. Pneumonia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 13 - Breathe in, breathe out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a significant lack of Tim (in person) in this chapter but I'll fix that. Especially since I decided to add at least one more chapter to this so please forgive me?

He loses track of what happens. He isn’t sure if the voices he hears are real or in his head, and the faces hovering above them just a figment of his imagination. All he knows at this point is the pain, a brutal constant. The moment the pressure lifts off his chest and then his legs, he hears someone scream but falls unconscious before he knows it’s him. Then there are lights above him and he can finally breathe, but he doesn’t see Tim and when he tries to ask, just passes out again. He knows he does, he feels it happen and every time he comes to, he knows time has passed and how he missed that. It continues like that until he is completely under, completely gone for a time and only realizes when he wakes up. The first time he falls back asleep within the warmth around him and the soft feeling of a pillow against his cheek, but the second time he wakes, someone is holding his hand. It’s nice. He wants to lean into the contact because when does he have it? He blinks and the room is white, but not bright. Evening then. Something in his mind wants to tell him how long he’s been out. He sees a white curtain. He sees machines, even if he can’t make out anything on them. A metal pole and cables and a needle in his hand, the same hand Martin holds. And Martin. He sees Martin. 

“Jon?” Martin. He wants to be surprised but is too tired. Of course it’s Martin. Did he know that? Hope? He wants to answer, but something is on his face and he frowns and wants to lift a hand to get it off, but Martin is holding that hand. Isn’t that why he has two? Does he have two? “It has to stay on” Martin strokes his knuckles with a thumb and again, his brain provides the word ‘nice’ and nothing else. “Don’t talk, alright? You both breathed in a lot of burning chemicals and your lungs need time to heal from it” The smell of plastic. The explosion. Waking up under rubble and there had been…    
Tim. He blinks again and squeezes Martin’s hand. Both of them, because of Tim. He hadn’t been alone.   
“Hey, it’s okay. You’re okay, you’ll both be” He tries to put his question into a look but is not sure if he accomplishes anything. Tim. He needs to know, he needs to know because-

Pain erupts in his chest when he breathes too fast and that only makes it worse, for a moment he is back under the rubble, trapped, so tight, all around him so tight and pressing him down and-

“Jon” Martin gets his attention again with his hand on his arm now, he is not under rubble, so much space between him and the ceiling, actually, “Jon  _ please _ stay calm, okay? I need to get a nurse if you don’t, and then they’ll give you medication so you will be asleep again. I can tell you what happened but you need to stay calm and quiet?” Jon takes a breath, deeper now and it still hurts, stabbingly, so deep in it. 

“So… squeeze my hand once for no, and two for yes. Or blink, if that’s easier. Okay?” He seems nervous, nervous and tired. Jon does both and makes him smile and he is drugged, certainly he is, because it makes his chest feel a little lighter, as if the pain there vanishes a little because of Martin’s smile and that is ridiculous. 

“They dug both of you out of the ruins of the theater” He starts to explain, “I wasn’t there, only talked to the doctors. You stopped the ritual and Tim set off an explosion as far as I know” He nods over to the curtain, “Tim’s here too. You were both very…” he shakes his head, “It was pretty close” He raises his eyebrows in response. Define, he thinks. Define bad. But he doesn’t necessarily have to - the fact that Jon is fairly sure he has more problems than pneumonia for his chest to hurt that way is a good indicator. But he doesn’t want to look. He wants Martin to tell him, not discover it himself, he is not brave enough for that.

“I mean… Jon, it’s pretty  _ bad _ ” They had that already, what does it mean,  _ bad _ ? “You were out for two days, with… Inner bleeding, broken ribs, one of them punctured a lung and on top of that pneumonia. Your leg is also broken, they had you in surgery for… For so many hours” He shakes his head again, “And Tim too, they weren’t sure if you two were going to make it and I just…” He squeezes Martin’s hand and tugs at it to get him to look at him. He wants to say that he’ll be okay, but how can he solve that with a look? Saying it is already hard, so how is he supposed to do that without a voice? He blinks down to where their hands are intertwined and it is only just visible around the oxygen mask on his face. He loosens his fingers until he has the back of Martin’s hand, and it’s shaky but it’s really just two words. ‘Thank you’ he tries to draw but Martin stops him after the fourth letter, 

“You… Jon, there is no place I’d rather be right now. I was worried you two were… dead, or dying” He takes a shuddering breath, “There is no way I wouldn’t be here” He closes his eyes for a moment and then continues, “What I was meaning to say is… You are probably too drugged right now to feel much” True. “Which is good. But you’ll both recover, even if it takes time. Tim is still mostly out of it, I talked to him twice at this point and he keeps asking about…” He shakes his head, “He’s confused, which is not surprising” Jon thinks about before. Is it a dream? Because then, Tim hadn’t been so confused. He told him to breathe. Like back in research, and how he needs to try to be better. Strangely enough, Jon wants to. And he wants to start right now, but is also too tired to think about most of it. Which is… weird to say the least. How did they get here? He can only suspect the curtain separates them and he has the vague memory of asking that same question before. The curtain is a perfect metaphor, because they are so far from each other, separated by so much force. And he doesn’t want that. How did that happen? How did they come from being friends to this? And to this room? Because Tim was there, the entire time, hating him, but still he risked his life with him. And if it’s not that way then he is more confused than he thinks he is, but Tim went with them, did he not? And even when Jon is painfully tired and his chest hurts and that and Martin’s hand are the only things he can feel, there is a different feeling. An emotion, really. He is glad Tim is alive and he  _ misses _ him. Really, actually misses him. Why now? They are in the same room, and both alive and he doesn’t want to have it any other way. With the knowledge of Sasha’s death, Tim and Martin and Jon are what is left, or at least it feels that way. He can’t lose anyone else. And he doesn’t know what he’d do if he lost Tim now too, after all they-

“Jon, hey, it’s okay” Martin leans forward but he is blurred, still Jon sees how his eyes skip him over nervously again “Are you in pain?” He shakes his head and only now actually realizes that he is crying. That is a very human thing to do, is it not? Martin has no chance to know what’s going on and Jon can’t tell him. 

“You’ll be okay, both of you. Get some rest, okay? I’m not going away, it’s not like they’re going to throw me out  _ at this point _ , so I’ll just stay” Something is in those words that Jon is missing, but he can’t put a finger on it and so just stays quiet. He looks over to the curtain again and Martin follows his gaze. 

“Oh, yeah, the nurse pulled it up again when she checked on you. I should…” Jon always forgets how tall he is and is reminded of it when he gets up. He lets go of his hand in the process and Jon wants it back. He can’t very well see without his glasses, but there is another bed and a person in it, he thinks. Then Martin is next to him again.    
“Better now?” Jon gives him two exaggerated blinks, “Great” Not great. Not great but… Better is a good word. 

He closes his eyes and lets sleep take him again. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading and please consider letting me know what you think <3   
> (Also, I just realized that Jon does not say a single word here and I'm impressed xD)


	3. To set it right

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon and Tim and bonding over trauma - day 25, Confusion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look!!!!!! Jon and Tim!!!! Even if Tim is 100% not lucid right now, fair warning. But they'll be okay, especially since I keep adding to this story what am I doing xD

“Jon?” He needs a moment to realize someone is calling his name. Another moment to recognize the voice as Tim’s. And a third one to open his eyes and get a look at his surroundings. Hospital room. Bed, blanket, machines, IV. He feels around for the spare glasses Martin brought him earlier that day and puts them on with shaky fingers. The world turns its focus back on, dim and yellow lighted.

“Are you there?” Oh. A lot of moments have passed since Tim first called for him, and he turns his head to see the curtain still pushed aside.    
“Are you dead?”

“Tim” His voice is still rough, he communicates mostly without talking. They both should, but he is very much alive and… They are not so far apart that they need to shout, right?

“Are you” Tim breaks off and coughs, “...alive?” He smiles a little, can’t really help it. 

“Yes, they found us. We’re safe” It’s all he can really come up with when he still blinks sleep out of his eyes. Is it late? It seems late. He doesn’t know for how long he slept, but Martin left earlier and he remembers saying goodbye. He remembers thanking him for the glasses. Night. It must be night.

“No, no we need to get out” Tim mumbles and Jon hears him struggling to get the bedrail down, “We need to- Jon, we need to-” He doesn’t know what to do, doesn’t know how to help, he could call a nurse but then he’d be sedated and that can’t be a solution all the time. He gets the feeling he’ll never forgive him if he does it now, and Jon will not forgive himself if Tim gets hurt. Hm. 

“We are out, we’re in a hospital” He tries the logical attempt first, and has to think how Tim calmed him down, trapped under rubble and debris. The least he can do is return the favor, even when he has to take a breath to assure himself he is not trapped, that it’s dim because it’s night, that he is not trapped because they are safe and there is air around them. Enough air, cool air. He reflexively pushes the blanket off his chest, that he is cold doesn’t matter. He needs to breathe.   
“We’re okay” He finally gets out.

“What?” Jon turns his head to look over.   
  
“Hospital, it’s where we are” He tries again, but sees Tim shake his head and winces at the motion. They haven’t really talked to each other yet, either too drugged or too sleepy, but he’s got it from Martin that Tim is not really lucid. Either it’s the medication or the head trauma, maybe both. He asked about Sasha. He also tried to escape his bed a few times - something Jon thought about himself too, but is really hard to manage with a broken leg. Not that he came far, or further then sitting up and pulling out his IV. 

“It’s not real, it’s all wrong, it’s wrong-” He tries to push himself up again but fails and falls back with a grunt. Jon feels his own heart hammering at the sound. No. They are not there. 

“No, you have a head injury, Martin was here earlier” Reality is good, reality is grounding, “He has been here a lot, you know” It’s more a thought but it doesn’t matter. 

“I… I can’t get up” 

“Yes, yes it- it’s okay” He is not good with these things, he is not good with calming people down or helping them. Not even with his friends. (Are they friends even? He doesn’t know. He wants to. He should not want to) He’d do anything to keep them safe or to help, yes, but basic emotions are not his strong suit. Or even a topic he is good at. Normally they know it and Tim makes jokes about it. Usually he doesn’t have to be good with emotions because Tim knows he is not. Now… Now he needs to try. Somehow.    
“They found us in the ruins,” he explains slowly, “It’s all okay, Tim” Weak. 

“Is it?” For the first time he turns his head and squints at Jon, “because… because I think I…” While he does look at him, he doesn’t seem to be able to focus.

“You-you are confused. That’s normal. It’s all okay” 

“I don’t hate you” What?

“I- Okay?” How is he supposed to react to that? He can’t hold him to it because he is clearly not thinking straight, or maybe not thinking at all. He’d be taking advantage if he took this seriously even when he wants to so much, “Thank you” He says still, because even when Tim will take it back later it’s… It means something to him to hear it right now.    
  
“Why do I think I hate you again?” Because Jon is a monster. Because everyone sees that and thinks that. Because they are tied to the institute. Because, because, because…    
Because Tim has all the reasons to. 

“It’s a long story, just… We can…” he stops again, “Later, alright? Talk about it later?” When Tim is lucid and knows what he is saying again, when Jon doesn’t feel like he is taking advantage, when… when… When it’s over? “I’d just… I’d just very much like us to be friends again” he says and closes his eyes, but not because he is tired. Not because he wants to sleep. 

“I can’t move, Jon” He can hear his rattled breathing over to where he hears his own, “Were, we’re stuck, the explosion-”

“It’s okay, it’s just… just for a while. It’s just for now. You’re not trapped, we’re- we’re fine” He stumbles over his words while saying them, realizing Tim has a very similar problem to his own. 

“No, I can’t move, I… Everything keeps spinning, and…” he coughs, “I can’t breathe” His voice gives out, rough as it is, the moment it gets higher. 

“It’s okay” He wants to reach out like Tim did before, but can’t, “can you… can you raise your hand?” He swallows and needs to think about how to phrase it, “just a little, upwards. Because there is just… just air? Nothing to trap you. You’re hurt, you can breathe. In and out” Oh, he realizes again. Oh.    
“In and out, okay?” He breathes in through his nose and out through his mouth. His burning lungs either thank or hate him, he isn’t sure at this point; “In and out. You can do it” Either it’s the worst he can do or the best, because it’s Tim’s own words. Jon is not good with it, Tim is, “In and out” he repeats it again and then one more time and some more for good measure. He doesn’t know for how long.    
“Better?” he asks at some point when he remembers it again and looks over. Tim doesn’t answer at first and it almost seems like he fell back asleep, until he sighs and asks,

“We really survived?” 

“Yes, yes it seems so” He is prepared for more confusion. For the need of more explanation, more panic, more pain. 

“Oh for fuck’s sake” And breathless, voiceless, scratchy, he laughs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for bearing with me here <3


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> day 28, alt. Prompt 15 - carry/support. Trust is a funny thing, you know?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *is super excited* A huge thanlk you to all of you amazing people reading and leaving Kudos and commenting - I didn't expect this to get so much attention and here we are. I only planned it to be a two-shot for Whumptober and now... Here we are. And still, it'll be the last chapter. Though I might write more in the general verse - like a continuation maybe? Let me know what you think, I'm also on Tumblr as @strangestarlightmusic :) Now please have fun with this utterly not-canon-compliant chapter because I want them to be happy. Or, let's say... happier?

They let them go after two weeks. Precisely the time where Jon thinks he’s going absolutely mad with boredom and just lying around. The few times he had been allowed outside were in a wheelchair, and he only curses about how he broke a  _ leg _ of all things when nobody is listening. It’s only a small blessing that he is allowed to read, because with strict orders to take it easy it gets boring after two days. Martin brought him his laptop for Netflix but that doesn’t help a lot - Tim enjoys it, but frankly, he doesn’t really get it. Especially when all shows seem to fit into the category of “aggravating”.    
The short version is that the moment someone tells him he’d be allowed to leave the in next days, he thanks whatever entity still liking him at least a little and has to physically refrain from packing up and leaving right away - or, to put it better: his body keeps him from it. 

“You know you’re not going to heal faster because you’re impatient, right?” Tim turns to his side to glare at him. It works better, the whole glaring-part, when he is able to focus his eyes on a spot and doesn’t forget what he is talking about every two minutes. 

“In theory or…?” They reached a strange level of … something so far. Jon doesn’t know  _ what _ they are. Not friends, he presumes - because Tim made it more than clear that they were not. But they’re talking. He guesses it’s easier since Martin is with them most of the time.    
“I just… really want to get out of here” he finishes and rubs his eyes. His chest still hurts and his voice sounds dreadful most of the time, but with cough drops and fluids he manages the last part. He even manages to get around on crutches a little, even if he gets tired far too quickly. The first time he tried he nearly hit his head on the next table when he fell, and Tim joked that he shouldn’t take him as an example please, watching him with a frown. Jon tried to pretend that his heart beat faster because he fell, because it actually hurt, and that he didn’t need to swallow down tears at the thought of Tim joking about him again. They are not friends. Tim is not his friend anymore, Jon screwed it up. 

“I  _ know _ , you’re not the only one. I can’t wait to finally sleep in my own bed again” He talks more but Jon doesn’t answer that. It’s not something he dared to think about - where to go. He doesn’t really have a place anymore, not since being kidnapped multiple times, wanted for murder… And he checked. His things are in storage, yes, but it’s not like he can live there.    
While he really wants to get out of the hospital, he dreads going back to the Archives. It’s a slice of reality settling in, that they will have to go back eventually. There is not a lot of choice in the matter anyway. He doesn’t want to ask Georgie, even when she visited him multiple times in the last weeks. It’s better if he just… stays away. Away from her. And maybe away from everyone, including Martin for that matter. And Tim. He was forced to see him for two weeks already, and that he didn’t insist on changing rooms is just because it would have made things harder for Martin. Martin who will pick them up. Martin who… Who can’t know. 

“Hey, are you still in there?” 

“Yes, yes” he mumbles, mentally far away, and Tim rambles on about how everything in his fridge will be alive at this point and how he is glad he only kept a few succulents that don’t need a lot of water, and Jon just nods along because he is talking, and Jon can at least pretend it is all like it was before the archives for a beautiful second. Even with the past gone and nothing staying, he can lie to himself.

  
  


“Jon, where should we drop you off?” The question again, and… he opens his mouth and closes it again. Where? They’re in Tim’s car, with Martin driving and them in the backseat. Five minutes ago, his main concern had been if he could even make it to the car before he’d collapse. His chest burns with the effort of a few steps and standing in the elevator, his arms do so too because while he is used to the crutches, it’s still not easy. Everything hurts. And on top of that, the question. He made a plan, late at night. He made a plan on what to say and how to answer and he knew exactly that he wouldn’t have a lot of a chance then, as he does now. It’s not just his slowly healing lungs that make his chest hurt, it’s the knowledge and the consequences of exactly  _ how _ bad he screwed up that puts iron shackles around his chest and makes it harder to breathe. Tim’s voice in the back of his mind, telling him to breathe, in and out - now, it makes it worse. Martin is turned around in his seat and stretches to put a hand on his arm. Jon impossibly wishes it could stay.   
“Hey, it’s okay, we’ll get you home and then you can rest, okay?” He wishes it was that easy. He wishes Martin could stay with him. He wishes he could turn back time.    
None of that can happen, he knows - wishes are just ideas that are too far from reality.

“The Archives, I should-” He needs to say it, has practiced the response in his mind so often, so, so often. He should be in the Archives. He should stay in the Archives. The only place he can think of, actually. 

“He asked you  _ where you live _ ? I know it’s not your old flat anymore” He doesn’t answer, just feels his cheeks burn. He can’t look at Tim, he can’t look at Martin. Why is he making things so complicated? He shouldn’t, he should… Should 

“Jon, I swear to… Is this the damn paranoia-thing again?!” He flinches at the mention, but maybe it’s better to leave it at that. Maybe it’s better if he lets them believe that, so they… So…    
“Wait, Jon, look at me” He doesn’t. He looks at his thin hands that are so tightly gripping his hoodie that they tremble. Stares at them with a red face and red ears and feeling his heartbeat because he doesn’t know what to do - he can’t just get out of the car, he can’t just… Go. He has to answer them and there is no way around it, “You don’t know, do you?” Tim’s voice loses all bite, “You stayed at the Archives before this” So… so he noticed then.

“Jon, do you not know where to go?” Slowly, very very slowly, he looks up. Still not meeting either of their gazes but looking out the window between them. Then he shakes his head.

“Just… You can just drop me off at the Archives, I’ll figure it out” He finally says and closes his eyes. 

“Absolutely not” Tim next to him exclaims and before Jon can say anything, continues, “We’re heading to my place, you’ll stay there” 

“Tim, I can’t po-” He protests and for the first time, actually looks at Tim. He doesn’t look… angry. While he can’t name it, he doesn’t look like he is actually angry with Jon, or with anyone. He looks out the window, so Jon can see the stitches on his head where his hair is shaved short. He can still see the blood running down his face, so shiny in the dim light, so much of it on the rubble next to him.   
  
“You very possibly can  _ shut up _ and take it before I change my mind” He snaps and then his shoulders sag, “Listen…” He shakes his head but it’s just a slight motion, Jon knows he gets dizzy when he moves it too much. He doesn’t finish his sentence for the entire rest of the ride.

  
  


Tim lives on the third floor. Jon has been there before, knows fully well there is no elevator and still he feels his ears start to burn again when he thinks about it, even before they arrive. He is tired, leaning against the window with his forehead. The rain is drizzling on the car, the sound so oddly calming. He is cold. They’re in a car park outside some store, with Martin getting their prescriptions and a lot of other things Tim dictated him to get. He is not sure when it became clear Martin would stay over with them, but he is thankful for it. Still he can’t stop thinking it through - he can’t possibly stay there, he can’t possibly impose to be welcome. So he thinks about the third floor, and the time he stayed with Tim before, the one single time. He thinks about how they were friends then and how he actually liked Tim’s flat and never told him. He thinks about how he still knows the outlines of it and he tries to make a mental plan on how to proceed, where to make sure he doesn’t stumble over something, where he can possibly sit down and where not, what to do when Tim doesn’t talk to him.    
The Tim currently next to him suddenly groans exaggeratedly and turns to face him. 

“Care to tell me why you don’t have a place to go?” He thinks about why he shouldn’t answer - so many reasons he should hold his tongue, but he is tired and weak from fighting it all the time, he doesn’t even lift his head when he answers.

“All I had is in storage as far as I know, since… Since I was… wanted for murder and hid at a friend’s house then, got kidnapped mutiple times and… I don’t want to get anyone in danger anymore. Not her, not any of you. That is why I should stay in the Archives” his voice is scratching in his throat again, “Now, because I messed this up too, you have to take me in even if you don’t want to, and hate me, for which you have all the reasons” He doesn’t look at Tim, partly because he doesn’t dare, partly because he is just tired.

“I don’t hate you” Tim answers after a while, “I did, yes. And I can’t just forgive you or forget everything you did with just the blink of an eye, but… I think you can try to be better, and I know that’s what you’re doing” Is he? Because he thinks he is but feels like he is failing. “I know I wasn’t lucid for most of our conversations in the last weeks, but I do remember enough of it. You could have held me to my words, you know, but you didn’t” 

“Never” he mumbles and sighs, “You didn’t know what you were saying and…” He just sighs again instead of ending his sentence and leans his head back a little so he feels the cool glass again, when the small patch has warmed up.   
  
“I called you a monster, and you have about as much a clue what’s going on as I have. We’re just… We all wanted to help and you pushed us away” He did. Because it didn’t seem like help at that time, on the contrary.

“I know. I’m bad at admitting that I need help, and that’s… that made me a total asshole when I thought you were all conspiring against me” It occurs to him that they’re having a heart-to-heart in the backseat, in a car park, but considering the last month, it’s not the strangest to happen.

“That was the most stupid thing I ever heard, but seriously. Just… Did you really think  _ Martin _ would want to kill you? I mean, yeah, he’d had all the reason to, but he went almost crazy on us because he was concerned” The corners of his mouth twitch upright a little. He thinks about waking up and Martin holding his hand and calming him down. He thinks about his concern and care in the last two weeks and his endless tries in helping with the settling boredom without losing patience even once.

“I know, I… Thinking back I don’t understand it either, if that helps” To his surprise, Tim chuckles.

“It does, actually. Because you’re honest with me right now, and that’s all I need you to be” Honesty. He suspected them being not honest, but in the end it had been Jon himself. That is… It’s sad but makes all the sense. 

Martin is back with them five minutes later, putting bags in the back and turning the heating system on when they leave. The warm air blowing against his hands makes him even more sleepy. He doesn’t even know what drained him so much, but he is exhausted by the time they arrive, and only when he looks out the window he remembers his thoughts from before. Third story. He half wants to propose that he could stay in the car, just sleep with his head against the window, especially since it’s raining a lot more now. 

“Jon?” He only realizes Martin is calling his name when Tim touches his shoulder. Yes, they arrived. He should get out of the car.    
  
“Martin asked you if you needed some help” His immediate reaction would be to say no, absolutely no, he can do it himself and it would hurt and he would do more bad than good but he’d probably manage. Or not. But he feels Tim’s gaze on him. It feels like a test, like one he already knows the answer to. He looks at him and yes, raised eyebrows, hand lingering and then retreating.

“Yes, please” 

  
  


It’s still awkward, and Jon almost wishes he’d be too tired to realize it. He leans on Martin for support until they are inside and at the foot of the stairs, and with his help and the handrail, even manages to climb half of one story, before his visions twists and greys and he realizes he can hear nothing else than his own breaths. Martin sits him down at the top of the stairs to let him recover. 

“I can pick you up if that’s okay with you” he says it so softly that Jon almost doesn’t really hear it, “It’s not a problem and I don’t think it’s a good idea to let you walk the rest of the way” It’s not. It’s not a good idea, not at all. Martin picked him up before, at this point, he probably did it with everyone in the Archives. He can show that he cares, Jon suddenly thinks, he can show it. Act it out and really, properly show it. 

“I’m sorry” Martin shakes his head and he feels it when he wraps his arms around his neck. 

“Don’t be, I’m just glad you’re letting me help you” Glad. He is… glad. 

“I’m…” He stops and just leans his head to the side so it rests on Martin’s shoulder. Like the touch he wished would come back earlier that day. Is it bad that he wishes for it? Is it bad he is glad that Martin is not angry with him? That Martin never seemed to hate him even if he would have had all reasons too? “Thank you” It’s easier said than he thought it would be, just like it’s suddenly easier to breathe when Martin helps him sit back on the sofa next to Tim and Tim, out of breath and panting, wheezing more than Jon does and paler than before, Tim who he spent two weeks in the same room with and only now really talked too, the same Tim who called him a monster - Tim just smiles. 

“Here we go” he coughs and weakly nudges his arm, and Jon wants to reply back, but then Martin intervenes, makes them use inhalers and drink water and later, Jon listens to half-asleep Tim bickering with him and making a few jokes that almost sound like before. Before everything. Before, when they were still friends. And it almost feels less like just a far away memory.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Am I ignoring that they need the Institute? Yeah, 100%, fight me (no, please don’t fight me, I’ll start to cry) Also, Carrying and Support? As in a Support System and a little physical support. Both. Because it’s me.

**Author's Note:**

> Posted too early because I won't have time tomorrow. Please let me know what you think!  
> Also.... Tbc :)


End file.
